Wednesday, 26 February 2014

Well, here it is, the title post of this blog. Recluses are
a burdened lot. They leave, nay shun the trivialities of general society yet
society doesn't quite leave them. J.D Salinger wouldn't be quite as famous if
he were to talk on every second talk show. Fact is Salinger’s reclusiveness built a sort of
enigma around him. He wrote perhaps the greatest coming-of-age novel there is
and then just disappeared from the literary landscape by and large. And this
gave rise to his enigma that continues even after his death.

But the purpose of this blog is to point out that recluse
are not misanthropes. The greatest of history’s recluses have had muses. Even Thoreau
had Emerson, even Sherlock had his Watson. You see a recluse shuns the society
he finds himself in. It is true that all humans need other humans, apart from
the misanthropes of course. It is just that recluses tend to see life finely, a
bit more microscopically if you will, and they choose whether a society is
worth belonging in or not, for they know the value of their own company.
Socially frivolous behaviour is a way to avoid looking within yourself. It’s a
way to avoid the thoughts and questions that hit you when the city has done its
day of walking mammoth steps and is ready for slumber. Recluses perhaps have
conquered that awkward silence that comes when you try looking inside for the
first time. They are the ones who endure beyond the seeming emptiness of existence
and make peace with themselves. As Thoreau said’ the reason I write about
myself is that I do not know anyone better than I know myself.’ It’s just that
to some people it makes more sense to figure themselves out before they look
out to the world.

Like I said recluses are not misanthropes. As a matter of fact
every recluse needs a muse. To Thoreau it was Walden, to Lauryn Hill her music
and maybe to Salinger it was Holden, to Harper Lee it was Capote . The advantage
of reclusiveness is that it is the fountainhead for originality. It allows you
to have thoughts that are free from all worldly influence and truly a reflection
of yourself. And hence there is a muse. Maybe a person, maybe an empty page to
pour yourself on , maybe an instrument. A person I knew told me she had no real
connection with anyone and the only thing she would miss was the sky. I guess
it must suffice to say, that for some , the sky is their muse.

Monday, 24 February 2014

Have you met the man of no sorrow?
He caresses the street like there's no tomorrow
Too obese with thought
he exceeds in excesses sought
too thick with analysis
one often finds him in paralysis
he was not bred to sing your tunes
give him leftovers, give solitude he calls them fortunes
the breadth of his inner wings
cannot be measured by manmade things
he once traveled south
time was a song on his mouth
pause ,play , rewind ,erase
he's way beyond our current phase
have you met the man of no sorrow ?
his gaze will kill you like an arrow.